


Seasons Greetings

by bri_ness



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Christmas, Letters, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bri_ness/pseuds/bri_ness
Summary: Isak thinks he's alone over winter break until he hears the worst kind of Christmas music from 308's room.Even thinks he's alone over winter break until he receives a passive aggressive Christmas card under his door.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Comments: 23
Kudos: 324





	Seasons Greetings

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays, everyone! ❤️ Small disclaimer this is entirely based on my experience living on campus at a Canadian university (minus the meet cute), so it might not be realistic for a university in Norway.

It starts with _Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays_.

It disorients Isak. He’d wake up to the same nasally, overdone harmonies at home, the sound bleeding from Lea’s room. _*NSYNC actually has one of the best modern Christmas albums_ is an argument she made well into adulthood. When Isak protested, she’d say _at least it’s not Mariah Carey_ , then launch into an off-key version of _All I Want for Christmas is You._

So for a second, he thinks he’s at home. Lea will be decorating the tree, baking cookies, and wrapping presents, frantically pretending they’re a normal family. Dad will get stressed when he can’t keep up the act, mumbling about how they shouldn’t make a big deal out of Christmas, _you know how Mom gets_. Mom will be fine until that happens, until her behaviour becomes a prophecy. _Fine_ , she’ll say, locking herself in her room. _If that’s how I get, don’t let me ruin the celebration._

It’s only a second, only until Isak opens his eyes and spots the sink in his room. He was lucky to get a dorm room with sink; that’s what his family said when they moved him in. _Oh, a sink! That’ll be convenient!_ Because what else do you say when someone’s signing up to live full-time in a room the size of a walk-in closet? _Wow, you can almost fit in the bed! The floor only has one mysterious stain! The window opens if you jiggle it a little, then throw your entire body weight against it!_

It’s still better than home.

Especially now, when most everyone has cleared out for winter break. Residence stays open for those who can’t go home, which leaves a few international students, mature students, and Isak. It is quiet, and it is fucking glorious. Isak’s been able to get ahead on his reading for next semester. He’s even been able to sleep. He’s convinced himself he was right to stay here over Christmas—though home’s only a few hours away on the train. 

But that was before he was haunted by the five harmonizing ghosts of Christmas past. Their RA is also home for break, which means it’s on Isak to handle this himself. When the song starts for a fifth time, Isak leaves his room and looks for the source.

It’s coming from room 308. Isak pauses. Mikael’s in 308, and he went home a few days ago. Maybe he’s letting a friend crash? Isak’s theory is confirmed when a voice that’s not Mikael’s starts singing along, loud and too confident for his skill level.

Isak could knock, but the allure of winter break was not having to deal with people. Despite the luxury of _a sink in his room!_ , dorm life really isn’t for him. He’s tired of communal bathrooms. He’s tired of eating cheese toast every day because it’s the only thing the cafeteria can’t fuck up. He’s tired of ignoring the RA’s knocks on his door: _Isak, we’re all going for dinner! Isak, we’re having a movie night! Isak, are you still alive in there?_

He’s especially tired of the mumbles that follow.

“Why doesn’t he ever come to anything? I don’t get people like that.”

“Maybe he’s shy?”

“Or maybe he’s an asshole.”

 _Maybe,_ Isak doesn’t know who the fuck he’s supposed to be here. Thing is, he was meant to reinvent himself. That’s what university is for, right? Outside of the pressure and expectations of high school, away from the people who’ve known you since you were five, you can _become who you truly are._ The recruiting pamphlets promised self-fulfillment and a sink in your room.

He did try, at first. He participated in frosh week activities that were more awkward than kosegruppa. He sat with people he recognized at meals instead of bringing food back to his room. He went to a couple of parties where twenty people crammed into a dorm room.

But throughout it all, he was still himself. Irritated at the teambuilding exercises during frosh week, like you could force relationships. Isak, of all people, would know that doesn’t work. Angry at the people who confessed to being homesick over breakfast, because why the fuck would you leave a loving, functional family?

Uncomfortable at parties, because they were essentially where people met to pair off and hook up. Girls would ask him where his room was, and he’d stammer out an excuse about having to study before classes even began.

Which was just so fucking stupid to him. It’s not like he’s still in the closet. He did the whole coming out thing back home, but he doesn’t know how to it here. Does he invent an ex-boyfriend to refer to? Does he throw up a pride flag on his Instagram? Does he use it to validate his opinions on LGBTQ issues in class, _as a gay man, I think…?_ No one told him this part, that he’d have to come out over and over again. It’s just fucking inconvenient.

Isak hasn’t reinvented himself. He’s just become a taller version of who he was at fifteen, and that’s not a person anyone needs to know.

So no, Isak’s not going to talk to this amateur vocalist, not even just to tell them to turn the music down. He’s going to use the preferred method of communication in residence: a passive-aggressive note.

The RA left blank Christmas cards in the lounge for people to give to each other. Isak got a couple of generic ones from the kinds of people who invited the entire class to their birthday in elementary school, but he didn’t give any out—until now.

_Dear 308,_

_Do you see the cute reindeer on this card? Every time you play Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, one of them dies. Something about the frequency._

_Turn your fucking music down, lest you make them an endangered species and ruin Christmas for children everywhere._

_Seasons greetings,  
302_

Minutes after Isak slides the card under 308’s door, the music stops.

Then _Where Are You Christmas_? by Faith Hill starts.

\---

It starts with a card. And it’s about fucking time.

Even tried eggnog. The Knight Before Christmas. Decorating a Charlie Brown tree. An advent calendar. Looking at Christmas lights. Peppermint mochas, though why someone would want to drink toothpaste is beyond him—but there had to be something to it, right? There still has to be something to _him_ , right?

And music, of course. Everything from Bing Crosby’s _White Christmas_ to *NSYNC’s _Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays._ He even sang and danced along, and still. Not only did he have no holiday spirit, but he had no _spirit_ whatsoever.

His mom’s favourite Christmas song, Celine Dion’s _The Magic of Christmas Day_ , goes: _God bless us everyone, the good and the bad, the happy the sad._ So what about the people who aren’t good or bad, happy or sad? What happens to the people who are just existing because they know they have to?

Even knows he’s depressed. It’s not the grand mystery it was when he was fifteen, when he went from the boy who felt everything too much to the boy who didn’t feel a fucking thing. He has medication. He has a therapist. He knows it’ll pass, which means he’s better than he was a few days ago.

It’s just—it’s fucking _Christmas_. He’s supposed to get too competitive making gingerbread houses with his cousins. He’s supposed to argue with his dad over the best way to cook mashed potatoes. He’s supposed to settle in with a tea, relaxing as he looks at his family around him, each one a reminder that he has a lot of fucking love in his life.

He’s supposed to be happy, but he can’t be anything right now.

His plan was always to visit Mikael over winter break, but they’d take the train home to Oslo together to be with their respective families closer to Christmas. Reluctantly, Mikael left alone a few days ago. Even just can’t go home like this, not when he can’t engage with anything. It would feel like he’s separated from his body, like he’s watching scenes play out in a movie he’s not particularly invested in—or, worse. Like he’s Scrooge, looking in at his own life and unable to do a damn thing about it in the moment. Like he’s already dead.

But that’s kind of how Mikael’s dorm feels, too. The limited space he has is full of full equipment. There are half-written scripts and storyboards all over his desk. The whiteboard on his door is cluttered with messages from his floor, inside jokes he dismissed with a shake of his head when Even asked about them. _Too much to explain_ , he said, and Even heard, _I’ve lived so much without you._

It’s a life Even could’ve given himself, if he believed he deserved it. He hates himself for being apathetic towards himself, but at least he’s had enough therapy to recognize that’s counterproductive.

At least, that’s how being here felt until Even got a card from the Grinch across the hall. He thought he was alone here, then he learned it wasn’t, and something about that felt significant.

Even finds the blank cards in the lounge, and before he realizes it himself, he’s engaging with something again.

_Dear Grinch,_

_Do you know what actually kills reindeers? A lack of Christmas spirit_. _That must be the premise of some Christmas movie. If it’s not, I’m writing it. If it is, I’m still writing it. We live in remake culture._

_I’m sorry to say I’ve already endangered the reindeer. I have no holiday spirit, but it’s not because I’m The Boy Who Hates Christmas. I fucking love Christmas. My brain just takes things I love from me sometimes. Dick move to do it over Christmas, right?_

_I’ve been aggressively trying to give myself Christmas cheer, hence the music. I’m essentially living in a Pinterest board of elaborate decorations and festive drinks. It has not worked, so you don’t need to worry. I’m giving up, and you will hear Christmas music no more. No noise, noise, noise, as it were._

_But how, you might be asking, will my heart ever grow if there’s no relentless Christmas cheer? I don’t know, dear Grinch. I’m just trying to keep my own beating._

_Seasons greetings,  
308_

\---

Isak thinks three things when he gets the card. First, who the fuck does this guy think he is? Second, it makes sense that he’s friends with Mikael. Third, he wants to keep talking to him, because:

 _Dear Dr. Seuss_ ,

_I don’t think I’m the Grinch. I think I was born with a heart two sizes too big, but that’s the problem. It doesn’t fit inside me, so it leaks, and other people don’t want to deal with the mess. So I get angry, because no one’s taking care of my heart. And it’s still too fucking big, right? So I still feel every fucking thing._

_Have you even watched a Christmas movie? It’s not about the presents! Or decorations! Or festive drinks, even if peppermint mochas are fucking delicious! It’s about being with the people you love, I think. We’re both alone on Christmas, so logic suggest that’s our issue._

_This might just be a shit Christmas for us, but please keep your heart beating._

_Seasons greetings,  
302_

_\---_

Even thinks one thing when he gets the card: his heart is definitely beating.

 _Dear Grinch-Post-Heart-Surgery_ ,

_I know what you mean. My heart’s the same way, most of the time. Sometimes I’m grateful when I get depressed, because at least I’m protected from everything else I could feel. I know that’s fucked-up. I have not told my therapist that thought, but that’s what strangers are for, right?_

_We’re not really alone on Christmas, are we? If we’re talking to each other?_

_Seasons greetings,  
308_

_P.S. Do you really like peppermint mochas? Do you also snack on breath mints for fun?_

\---

_Dear Person-of-Fucked-Up-Thoughts,_

_Sorry. That might also be a fucked-up thing to say, but I also have fucked-up thoughts, so I think I’m allowed. You’re right that we’re not alone._

_I’ve only met strangers since I got here, but you’re the first person I’ve said something real to._

_Seasons greetings,  
Isak_

_P.S. Enjoy the breath mints. They do make an excellent snack._

Signing his name feels significant. Like he’s not his fifteen-year-old-self, nor some new-and-improved version, nor some mysterious stranger with no qualities except those that are assigned to him. He is just Isak, and 308 doesn’t seem to mind.

\---

_Dear Isak,_

_I usually say too many real things to people, and I usually scare them off, but then I also go through periods where nothing feels real at all and I fucking wish I was brave enough to scare someone again._

_You feel real, and I don’t know if that scares you, but it scares me. I am so fucking happy to be scared right now._

_Seasons greetings,  
Even_

Even knows better than to think a person can cure his depression. That they can save him, like he needs to be saved and like it’s fair to make that their responsibility. But sometimes it just takes one thing, one action, one conversation, one strange correspondence with a stranger, to remind him that he is alive, heart still beating, and he will feel all of the fucking beautiful and awful things again.

\---

They’ve run out of cards in the lounge.

Isak goes to 308’s room, _Even’s_ room, and knocks. There’s no answer, and that scares him more than anything that came before.

On the way back to his room, he notices someone at his door. “Isak,” the stranger says, and then he smiles, like _Isak_ is a good person to be.

“Even.” Isak says it clearly, reminding Even of his own presence.

“Do you want to…?”

Even doesn’t need to finish, because Isak’s already inviting him into his room.


End file.
